


Last Christmas

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Crowley invites Aziraphale over to his flat on the morning of Christmas Eve the year before the world is predicted to end





	Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Using the show chronology, forgive me.

Mistletoe is not a very polite plant. It's a parasite, attaching itself to a host tree and draining nutrients and water, stunting its growth, causing it to lose limbs, sometimes even killing it.

Crowley's mistletoe plant, like so much in his life, was the exception to this rule. It had been terrified and cajoled into extending the photosynthetic period of its lifecycle.

'Well done,' Crowley said, turning over the silvery leaves with his fingertip. If the plant could breathe it would have let out a sigh of relief. 

Crowley snapped off one of its branches.

'Not too bad, was that?'

The mistletoe would like to protest that it was, indeed, too bad. 

'This will be an honour. An honour for you, of course, not... Obviously- Well-' Crowley tied the branch to the doorway at the end of the hall. He was blushing, but supposed it didn't really matter. Plants couldn't see anyway. Probably.

The doorbell rang. Crowley took a long look at his reflection, willing the pink to recede from his face.  
The doorbell rang a second time. 'Alright, I'll be there in a sec!' he shouted, covering the length of the corridor in a couple long strides.

Aziraphale opened the door from the outside before he got there. 'Good morning, my dear. You look nice.'

Crowley stuck out his tongue, which rather ruined the impression of demure Victoriana he had scraped together from pieces that missed the nineteenth century by at least a decade both ways. 

'Luh like the innothent flower, but be the therpent under it'

'Something like that.'

'So do you,' Crowley said, reallocating his tongue to enunciation, 'look nice, I mean. Is that from Savile row?'

'I bought it in 2010. It matched your dress, do you remember?'

'I don't remember you wearing it.'

'Well, no. It was much too new,' the angel looked faintly embarrassed.

Crowley smiled at this. Look at the pair of them. So set in their ways. So little time left.

And why should they change? It wouldn't do them much good now. 

He paused under the open doorway that led   
into the kitchen.

'So, breakfast?' he inclined his head quizzically.  
Aziraphale saw the sprig of green bound to the elegant doorframe.

'You old serpent.'

'Angel.' Crowley had somehow taken his glasses off without Aziraphale noticing. His gold eyes were shining. 

Aziraphale tucked a strand of hair behind Crowley's ear, setting off a wave of warmth down his nerve endings. 

'Mistletoe. Christmas Eve. Really?'

'We might not- This might be our-'

'Best not think about it.'

'I can't.'

'I know you can't.'

Aziraphale stood on tiptoe, put his hands on Crowley's waist and for a moment he actually was able to stop thinking about the end of the world.  
Crowley gently tilted the angel's jaw with the palm of his hand. 

They kissed, softly, firmly, slowly.

Not-thinking-about-the-end-of-the-world only lasted so long, however. It was not the inclination to breathe that bade them draw apart, but rather the taste of salt from the demon's mouth.

'What d'you suppose'll become of us?'

Aziraphale shook his head. 'My dear boy, I believe you mentioned breakfast?'

Crowley made a squeaking noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, 'I did.'


End file.
